


Topical

by Lightspeed



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Medical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:22:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout forgets to do his laundry and decides to go commando for a fight.  Desert heat + lots of running = horrible rashes in horrible places.  Luckily, Medic has a great treatment for that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Topical

“Why in the world would you think it was a good idea to run through the desert, into combat, without any underwear?”

Medic sighed, adjusting his glasses. He held his clipboard to his chest, tapping the top of it with his pen. He knew Scout was dumb, but he didn't realize the depths to which is stupidity was capable of sinking.

Scout squirmed a bit, the cold leather of Medic's examination table creaking beneath his bare bottom. His thighs chapped and red, his nether regions burning, he tried to ignore the pain and explain. “Well, see, you know how, like, everybody on base seemed to be in the laundry room yesterday?”

“Ja, I got mine done early because I'd noticed the stench coming from Soldier's quarters.”

“Yeah, well, I didn't get in there. I took a nap after work, and by the time I got up, all of the machines were in use. Until, like, three in the frickin' morning.”

“Blame Demo for that one. His sleep schedule is a mystery even to me.” Medic smirked.

“So I didn't get to do my laundry. I mean, I still have a couple of uniforms left clean, and some socks, but I'm outta underwear. An' I ain't about to double-day that shit. Not with how nasty my sweaty stuff gets, so I went commando.”

“Und you chapped yourself. I see. One moment. I should have something that will help you.” Medic turned on his heel and walked over to one of his cabinets, setting the clipboard atop it. He opened a drawer and rooted around for a few moments.

Scout watched eagerly as the older man grumbled under his breath before finding what he was looking for. The tall Teuton pulled out a squeeze-tube with a red label on it. The clicking of polished, well-kept boots filled the room as Medic returned, offering the tube to Scout, a small smirk playing at his lips.

The younger man looked to the tube, labeled in German, of course. “What is it?”

“It's a topical gel based on the medigun's special chemical formula. Just rub it onto the irritated areas und you should see results almost instantly. Should take maybe five minutes to heal completely.” He pressed the medicine into Scout's hand and stepped back, turning to go retrieve his clipboard.

Fidgeting in his seat, the leather crinkled loudly under Scout's behind. “Uh, Doc?” he ventured.

Medic turned on his heel. “Ja?”

“I, um, think I could get a little help?”

“Help?”

“With applying the medication?” a grin spread across his face, pathetic and hopeful. Its cheesiness made Medic shake his head, chuckling a bit. “Please?”

“Since you asked so nicely.” The taller man returned to his patient's side and took the tube from his hands. A broad hand splayed on the younger man's chest gently nudged Scout to lie down, making the leather grunt in annoyance. He slowly peeled back the bottom of the paper gown he had insisted his patient wear, despite there being no modesty present in his examination. Scout's nethers were, indeed, a mess. Red, puffy, chapped flesh marred what would have been an otherwise pleasant view.

The runner shifted a bit, realizing how awful the sight was. Medic had seen worse. Medic had done worse. But it still didn't make him feel any better about Medic seeing _him_ like this. He watched intently as Medic opened the tube and made to squeeze some onto his glove. He reached a hand out. “Doc.”

Medic's eyebrow lifted. “What's wrong now?”

“Can you, maybe, not use the glove?”

A smirk was all that answered him, followed by the doctor biting the tip of his glove's finger and yanking it free of his hand. The glove dropped to the floor with a solid _pap_. Medic squeezed a translucent red gel out of the tube onto his bare palm and crushed his hand into a loose fist, coating his fingers in the stuff and spreading it a bit.

He reached down and rubbed gently at Scout's thigh, massaging the gel into his red, angry flesh. It was uncomfortably chilly against the runner's hot skin, but he was quickly warmed by Medic's hand working the medicine into him. It tingled somewhat, a rippling buzzing feeling that reminded Scout of the medigun's healing beam. It was only a few moments, but looking down at his thigh as the doctor's hand left it, he saw only pristine, if slightly pink, skin where one had been a nightmare rash. His eyes widened at the sight; Medic's hand giving his other leg the same attention.

Satisfied that the doctor was not entirely a quack, Scout relaxed and enjoyed the feeling of Medic's surprisingly strong, yet frighteningly dextrous hand caressing his thigh, rubbing the skin gently, carefully, treading higher, closer to the middle only on its path along his welts. A deep, contented breath entered and left Scout's nostrils, the runner closing his eyes in comfort. He was in good hands. Fingertips gently trailed along his scrotum, making the younger man's breath catch in surprise, almost having forgotten why Medic was doing this.

The hand left him, and he heard the soft squish of more gel being dispensed, and then that large, warm hand returned, coated in cool, cool medicine. Medic cupped Scout's balls, rolling them in his palm, trying to very gently massage in the medical gel. A soundless sigh resonated high against the American's palate, seeping slowly through his nose. His body was responding well to the treatment, and not just in terms of healing. Straining against sore flesh, even through the pain, Scout had grown rather hard rather quickly, his erection standing proud and needy, if sore and rashy.

The American tried not to think what it must look like, for fear of grossing himself out.

Cold shocked the head of Scout's cock suddenly, a glop of gel squeezed out onto it. A warm, slick hand soon met it, grasping the whole head and sliding down his length, trailing the cool gel along with the medicine still on that hand, warm from Medic's flesh and contact with Scout's rapidly healing balls.

The younger man's back arched a bit and he settled comfortably into the sensation as Medic began to slowly stroke him, that healing hand engulfing his cock, tugging up, sliding down, slick and warm against his hot, mending flesh. Against the first shock of contact, the tingle of the medicine quickly killed any pain, leaving him to enjoy the ride.

“Ah, yeah, Doc, just like that,” Scout murmured, opening his eyes just enough to catch a glimpse of what Medic was doing above the elbow.

The older man was watching Scout's movements intently as the smaller man squirmed gently under his touch, face growing flushed, breaths growing quicker. The doctor's lips were set in a crooked line somewhere between a smirk and an appreciative smile, clearly enjoying watching Scout lying there at his mercy, enjoying hearing the little moans that had begun to stumble over his lips.

The younger man's mouth parted, his breaths coming out more and more as soft panting as the doctor sped up his pace. Red, ragged flesh had long since mended while the squish of flesh and gel and flesh sliding against each other serenaded them as the only sound in the room above the quiet mewls of the American in the paper gown.

Scout searched for something to do with his arms, pawing at his thighs, biting his finger to keep from letting out any louder sounds when Medic stroked the edge of his head just so, knowing it would make the younger man's hips buck and his voice crack. It was a helplessness in spite of self-consciousness Medic couldn't help but find a bit cute, if he were to be honest. Which he never would.

Eventually, Scout settled on caressing his own thighs, reaching down to cup his balls occasionally as Medic's pace met its apex. Grunts and moans filled the room as the runner no longer bothered to control himself, eyes having long since fluttered closed, his brow furrowed. Buck teeth bit his lower lip. With a soft groan, that gangly body shuddered, hot come shooting into and across Medic's hand, some landing on the paper gown covering Scout's belly. A few extra pumps for good measure after the younger man had settled, making him shiver, and Medic released his patient's manhood, taking a moment to inspect the semen and gel-covered mess in his hand with mild amusement.

“There,” the doctor concluded, stepping away to go wash up. “You are good as new. I trust you'll get your laundry done on time, this time?”

“I dunno, Doc,” Scout panted, staring up at the ceiling in a half-daze. “If this is the treatment, I think it might be worth the pain.”

Medic scoffed and tossed a wet towel at the younger man, cold fabric slapping him on the belly. “If you want a handjob, Scout, just ask, next time.”


End file.
